


Movie Night

by anotherwinchesterfangirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex, Schmoop, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 20:11:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9784079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherwinchesterfangirl/pseuds/anotherwinchesterfangirl
Summary: Sam and the reader finally get a night to themselves.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Coming in juuuust under the wire for @winchestersandwordprocessors Valentine’s Day Fic Challenge! My assignment was Sam x Reader + comfy/cozy. Thanks @wehunt-monsters-whatthehell for always being down to beta! <3 <3
> 
> It probably doesn’t really matter to anyone, but in my head this is the same reader as in my fic Whispers in the Dark. :)

“This is nice,” Sam says, tossing back a handful of popcorn. He slides an arm around your shoulders and reclines against the headboard, his socked feet stretched out in front of him, long legs crossed at the ankles. The lights are off, and the blue flicker of the screen washes over the two of you, casting quivering shadows over the planes of his face.  

“Yeah, we needed this,” you sigh, wiggling a little closer into his side and pulling the blanket tight around your shoulders.

After weeks of back-to-back cases, barely enough sleep to function, Dean’s near-constant presence, and alone time limited to quiet middle-of-the-night quickies, tonight is very much needed. As soon as the bunker door shut behind Dean, you piled a nest of blankets onto Sam’s bed, popped a bag of popcorn, raided your secret stash of Oreos, and let Sam pick the movie. _Finally_ , some down time, just you and Sam. You breathe in the musky clean scent of him and rub your cheek against his worn-thin t-shirt, the solid warmth of him underneath.

“You know what else would be nice?” He squeezes your shoulder.

“What’s that,” you mumble against his chest.

He reaches across with his other hand, hooks a finger under your chin, and pulls your head up to face him. The look in his eyes sends a long tingling flush down your spine.

His fingers are already wandering, making their way down your back and creeping up under the hem of your shirt, stroking slow over your hip. He shifts under you, scoots down the bed a little, and wraps his arm around your back to pull you on top of him.

“This,” he says, his voice suddenly gravelly. He brushes your hair back from your face, smiling easy as he leans up to kiss you. His lips are salty and warm from the popcorn.

“What about the movie?” you whisper against his mouth.

“I didn’t pick this movie because I wanted to _watch_ it,” he says, dimpling. His hands are in your shirt, fingers around your ribs and thumbs brushing lightly across your nipples. Your breath catches in your throat. “I picked it because I’ve already seen it a thousand times.”

“Oh, well in that case,” you giggle, and kiss him again, full and open-mouthed.

He plants his hands on your back and rolls, and you land soft against the pillows behind you, the blanket that had been around your shoulders twisted between your legs. Sam pulls another blanket up over you both and wedges himself between your thighs. You let out a little noise of surprise as he grinds into you, his cock hard and heavy inside his sweatpants. The thin layers between you don’t leave much to the imagination. Not that you need to imagine.

“I’ve been waiting to do this for weeks,” he mumbles, breath hot against the shell of your ear. “Promise me you won’t be quiet.”

Your laugh is deep and throaty. “Promise.” You slide your hands down his chest to his waistband and push inside, wrapping around his cock through his boxer briefs, the cotton sticky wet against your palm.

“Good,” he growls, and kisses you again, slow but urgent, wanting. His tongue slides against yours and he groans into your mouth as you slip your hand through the slit in his boxers and slide up along his shaft. He pushes your shirt up over your tits, bunches it up under your armpits, and dips his head down to run his tongue slow around your nipple, take it soft between his lips and sucking, flicking his thumb back and forth over the other until you’re squirming, moaning, pushing your hips up into his, desperate for some friction.

“Sam,” you gasp, breathless, and he smiles against your skin. “Need to feel you inside me.”

“Not yet.”

You groan in protest, but really you love it, and Sam knows it. He shuffles down the bed, under the blanket, and shoulders his way between your thighs, tugs down your shorts, but leaves your panties. He spreads your knees with his hands and you can feel how wet you are, quivering under him, waiting.

“Sam,” you breathe again, pleading, and he responds by pulling your panties to the side and burying his face in your pussy. The pressure you were craving is so suddenly _there_ that you cry out, pushing your palms flat against the headboard over your head. You plant your feet on the bed and press your knees open wider, thrusting your hips up into his face, and he wraps an arm under your ass, holding you tight against his mouth, holding you together as you come, trembling apart.

When you’ve caught your breath, Sam is hovering over you again, kissing his way back up to your lips, the salty tang of your own arousal sharp on his tongue. You help him shove down his sweatpants and boxers, and his cock bumps against the inside of your thigh. You reach down and wrap your hand around it, hot and hard and leaking at the tip, and stroke him slowly. His hands are in your hair, his lips on your ear. You run your hand across the tip of him, slicking a streak of precome along your palm, and use it to lube your strokes. Soon he’s thrusting forward a little into your hand, and you say, “Now?”

His breath hitches. “Y-yeah, baby. Now.”

He helps you wiggle out of your panties, leaving them bunched up somewhere in the blankets at the foot of the bed, and he pushes inside you, thick and slow. You don’t bother to stifle your gasp. He thrusts slow, almost lazy, pushing you closer just a fraction at a time, his face buried in your hair.

“Feel so good,” he mumbles next to your ear, and you flush hot all over, the blanket surrounding you both trapping your combined body heat, and he’s so close, pressed tight against you from shoulder to hip, and all your breath is him, musky and warm and dizzying.

He pushes himself up so he can kiss your lips, swallow your sounds, and slides a hand into yours, pressing it into the pillow next to your head. You come looking into his eyes, shattered, and he’s right there with you.  

After, you lie there, bare skin sticking sweaty together, trying to catch your breath. Eventually, he jumps off the bed to grab a towel, but he’s back in an instant and he helps you clean up, and you both slide back under the blankets naked. The movie is nearly over, but you reach across him to grab a handful of cold popcorn anyway.

“I love this movie,” you say, a giggle bubbling up light and floaty in your chest.

Sam’s laugh shakes his whole body. “Me too.”


End file.
